


Blood to blood

by JaqofSpades



Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-13
Updated: 2014-02-13
Packaged: 2018-01-12 04:51:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1182128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JaqofSpades/pseuds/JaqofSpades
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Matheson blood, she thinks, and reaches up to stroke the red swell of his busted lip.  Were her cells singing out to his? Did they recognise each other? Was it written in their DNA, that hateful reminder of how fucked up fate can be?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blood to blood

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Porn Battle XV: The Ides of Porn to the prompts: Revolution (TV), Charlie Matheson/Miles Matheson, bullet, look, window, dirt blind, together, uniform, battle, follow, fingertips, protege, urgency, tactile, leave

His hand comes away smeared with red.

Miles drags in a sharp breath and starts to pull at her uniform, jerking the fastenings apart in his need to find her wound. Charlie just stares – the inkiness of his hair, so close to her face. The sharp glory of his lips, mere inches away from her belly.

“It can't be mine, I don't remember ...” she stops as her knees suddenly buckle, the pain roaring through her system as Miles dislodges her last layer to reveal a bloody furrow gouged under her ribs. 

“Arrow,” he grunts. “Minor. Let's get you out of here.” 

The battle is fading into a patchwork of skirmishes, so Miles barely has to swing his sword as they shuffle towards the fallback position. She's approaching delirium by the time they make it halfway, one hand already dripping with the blood oozing from her wound.

Matheson blood, she thinks, and reaches up to stroke the red swell of his busted lip. Were her cells singing out to his? Did they recognise each other? Was it written in their DNA, that hateful reminder of how fucked up fate can be?

He jerks his chin away and she's reminded once more. Uncle and niece. Mentor and protege. Badass and … badass in training.

Not this. Not hot blood and harsh breaths. Soft touches and sweet groans. Her gasp at his fingertips sliding over her belly, and his grunt at the tactile pleasure of her hair tickling his arm. She's wounded, she tries to remember, but can feel herself clenching her thighs, rubbing them together, arching towards him in unmistakeable demand.

His black eyes pretend to be blind to her lust, but his voice is hoarse with it as   
he tells her to haul ass. “Need to get back to base. Unless you want a bullet wound to add to your collection.”

But base is nearly an hour away, and who knows what they'll find there. (He's sad, so sad without Nora. Fighting and running, running and fighting, it's easy not to think. But base is an empty bed and too much quiet.)

“Miles! Please – I need to stop. Let's just hole up somewhere for a few hours and get through this thing. I can't run right now.” It hurts to admit it. To be so weak.

Maybe he can see it, because he takes a long look at her, and guides her into the next house; through it, and into the warehouse district. They could stop anywhere here, they can't even hear the gunfire, there's nobody about to follow, but … they've stopped. Stairs, and an eyrie over the embattled city.

Miles is a dark shadow against the huge windows, some still hanging on to their shattered panes of glass. He takes in the entire streetscape, and grimaces.

“It'll do, I guess. Can't do a damn thing about you wound though – should be getting that dressed.”

“I just need to rest up a bit. Bit light-headed from the blood loss, I guess.”

Or, the way you look at me, considering. The curl of your lip when you think about who I am, and what you want to do to me anyway, Charlie thinks bitterly.

“'kay. Sleep. We'll head on when you wake up.”

She sleeps, but it's not dreamless. He's moving over her, stroking. Wet tongue sliding along her ribcage, scalding her with its heat. Too many clothes, too much dirt. A bath, that wretched black dress, and Miles, coming after her. Guns, and arrows, and screams and loss, and still Miles. Always Miles.

Miles watching her mother leave, and then looking back at her, shame and bitterness lurking in his eyes. 

Miles moving over Nora, fucking her slow and gentle while Charlie watches from the shadows. They're beautiful, almost tragic with it, brown skin and pasty white and two dark heads always together. 

Nora, dead. Miles, alone.

She can want him now, and she's unhitching his belt, and falling to her knees. She's only ever done this once before, but for Miles, for Miles … her tongue is hungry, and adept. His hands clutch at her hair, and she grips the impossibly tight muscles of his ass as she swallows everything he chooses to give to her.

Then he turns her around and puts her on display, a crowd of militia and rebels jeering and laughing as he pinches at her nipples and moves long, clever fingers in and out of her pussy, making her ride his hand, the urgency mounting and mounting. She'll just ignore them, ignore the world, even her mother, who has clapped her hands over her mouth in shock, and Nora, who is crying, betrayed once more … 

“Miles!”

Her voice bounces off the far wall, bringing him running from his vantage point. He drops down beside her, already nudging her clothes aside to check her wound.

“Charlie! What?” 

“I … I .. God. Sorry. Dream.”

“Bad?”

She nods, praying he doesn't ask for details. There's an approximation, though. Her own personal nightmare. 

“Blood. Lots of blood.”

Matheson blood. Their mutual curse.

_fin_


End file.
